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A Mythical World Twisted curse
Lynn Vandestine He pushes the door open of his new studi Painting has always been his hobby, but it is his first time to open a workshop like this. When he was in his adolescence, it wasn't one of his pleasant times. In order to lighten his mood, he used to climb up at the top of his favourite mountain, with papers and paints in the backpack. Often, he brushed colors gently on the canvas, while thinking if a girl would appear in front of him just like that drawin Now, the place can catch a plenty of natural light, one of the reason why he bought this. The layout is flexible, it's enough big for his work. The paintings around the studio are mostly portraits, but he drew some landscapes, too, tried to do another genr "Hi, Tom!" he greets the guy, who is moving his brush with so much attention, benting towards the easel. Tom is a local artist and a student of art college, once Lynn helped his big brother with a mission, so he knew him a little. When Lynn needed an assistant for
A Mythical World Nudge
Somebody is brushing hairs from my forehead. Then nudging my shoulder. "Sam, wake up," a voice tells softly. A Male voice. I am feeling confused. There's no male person in our home. Then who is it? I try to open my eyes, but can't, because sunlight is hitting me. Who the hell opened the damn curtains of the damn window? I raise my hands to cover my eyes, but something is in them. Something muddy. Wait...I'm not in home, am I? "Sam," that voice tells again. I snap my eyes open. A strong face welcomes me. I adjust myself in a seated position, glancing around. Who is this guy? Shit! I fell asleep on the mountain top. All the night. I squint at the sunlight, not feeling as panicked as others should be. "Who are you?" I look at his blue eyes. "I can ask you the same question," he replies. I yawn, staring at my hands which are covered with soil. So do my clothes. "You're not the fast who slept here all the night." He sits beside me, glancing oddly. "What time is
A Mythical World History repeats
"I don't recall as we did." Giant was no more than five feet tall-his true name was Bedwyck-but a fierce little man for all that. "Slayer, did you ask Craster for his counsel?" Sam cringed at the name, but shook his head. He filled another spoon, brought it to Bannen's mouth, and tried to ease it between his lips. "Food and fire," Giant was saying, "that was all we asked of you. And you grudge us the food." "Be glad I didn't grudge you fire too." Craster was a thick man made thicker by the ragged smelly sheepskins he wore day and night. He had a broad flat nose, a mouth that drooped to one side, and a missing ear. And though his matted hair and tangled beard might be grey going white, his hard knuckly hands still looked strong enough to hurt. "I fed you what I could, but you crows are always hungry. I'm a godly man, else I would have chased you off. You think I need the likes of him, dying on my floor? You think I need all your mouths, little man?" The wildling spat. "Crows. When d
A Mythical World Lied
few of the lords lingered to speak in quiet voices upwind of the fire. They fell silent when they saw looking at them. Should Stannis fall, they will pull me down in an instant. Neither was he counted one of the queen's men, that group of ambitious knights and minor lordlings who had given themselves to this Lord of Light and so won the favor and patronage of Lady—no, Queen, remember?—Selyse. The fire had started to dwindle by the time Myra and the squires departed with the precious sword. Ezekiel and his son joined the crowd making its way down to the shore and the waiting ships. "Devan acquitted himself well," he said as they went. "He fetched the glove without dropping it, yes," said Dale. Allard nodded. "That badge on Devan's doublet, the fiery heart, what was that Black Horn sigil is a crowned stag." "A lord can choose more than one badge," Myra said. Dale smiled. "A black ship and an onion, Father?" Allard kicked at a stone. "The Others take our onion . . . and that flamin
A Mythical World Faded Glow
The morning air was dark with the smoke of burning goods. The old dry wood and countless layers of paint and varnish blazed with a fierce hungry light. Heat rose shimmering through the chill air; behind, the gargoyles and stone dragons on the castle walls seemed blurred, as if Moriah were seeing them through a veil of tears. Or as if the beasts were trembling, stirring . . "An ill thing," Hadassah declared, though at least she had the sense to keep her voice low "Silence," said Moriah. "Remember where you are. They were heading to the Garde Hundreds had come to the battle gates to bear witness to the burning of the Battle of Blood. The smell in the air was ugly. Even for soldiers, it was hard not to feel uneasy at such an affront to the gods most had worshiped all their live Moriah was thinking about his ancestors. They had overturned the altars, pulled down the statues, and smashed the stained glass with warhammers. The old Hand could only curse them, but Ser Hubard Rambton led
A Mythical World Unpleasant
She was grubbing for vegetables in a dead man's garden when she heard the singing. Arya stiffened, still as stone, listening, the three stringy carrots in her hand suddenly forgotten. She thought of the Bloody Mummers and Roose Bolton's men, and a shiver of fear went down her back. It's not fair, not when we finally found the Trident, not when we thought we were almost safe. Only why would the Mummers be singing? The song came drifting up the river from somewhere beyond the little rise to the east. "Off to Gulltown to see the fair maid, heigh-ho, heigh-ho . . . " Arya rose, carrots dangling from her hand. It sounded like the singer was coming up the river road. Over among the cabbages, Hot Pie had heard it too, to judge by the look on his face. Gendry had gone to sleep in the shade of the burned cottage, and was past hearing anything. "I'll steal a sweet kiss with the point of my blade, heigh-ho, heigh-ho." She thought she heard a woodharp too, beneath the soft rush of the river.
A Mythical World Parallel
Celandine observed the man curiously who just came out from the chamber, going downstairs. She noticed the small hand batch on his black robe, wondering what that might be meaning. Suddenly everything around her changed. They traveled dawn to dusk, past woods and orchards and neatly tended fields, through small villages, crowded market towns, and stout holdfasts. Come dark, they would make camp and eat by the light of the moon and the lamps. The men took turns standing watch. Celandine would glimpse firelight flickering through the trees from the camps of other travelers. There seemed to be more camps every night, and more traffic on the kingsroad by day. She somehow knew it was a dream. Morning, noon, and night they came, old folks and little children, big men and small ones, barefoot girls and women with babes at their breasts. Some drove farm wagons or bumped along in the back of ox carts. More rode: draft horses, ponies, mules, donkeys, anything that would walk or run or rol
A Mythical World Reviving
"I don't recall as we did." Giant was no more than five feet tall-his true name was Bedwyck-but a fierce little man for all that. "Slayer, did you ask Craster for his counsel?" Sam cringed at the name, but shook his head. He filled another spoon, brought it to Bannen's mouth, and tried to ease it between his lips. "Food and fire," Giant was saying, "that was all we asked of you. And you grudge us the food." "Be glad I didn't grudge you fire too." Craster was a thick man made thicker by the ragged smelly sheepskins he wore day and night. He had a broad flat nose, a mouth that drooped to one side, and a missing ear. And though his matted hair and tangled beard might be grey going white, his hard knuckly hands still looked strong enough to hurt. "I fed you what I could, but you crows are always hungry. I'm a godly man, else I would have chased you off. You think I need the likes of him, dying on my floor? You think I need all your mouths, little man?" The wildling spat. "Crows. When d
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A Mythical World Pure trash
"Mr. Jeong, are you okay? You suddenly seem.... distracted." "I-I'm...fine, it's.... fine," Sung-ho answered somehow, his hands were shaking because of that ugly memory. He pressed his hands together forcefully under the desk, ignoring the pain running through his nerves Choi Dea looked at him with slight worry, wondering why he was sweating so hard. After he explained everything what happened with her sister and him, even though she wasn't sure whether it was truth or not, her expression softened a bit. She also noticed how he had reacted when she had mentioned his father Shi-woo. So she assumed that the relationship between Mafia son and father might not be good "Thank you for your explanation about Joo-eun," she said after a moment. "And I would prefer if you don't tell about this incident to anybody. Ever. Sung-ho frowned a little. "Urm, sure. She glanced at the bracelet again which her friend had given it to her when she was little. Even though she couldn't remember that,
A Mythical World Reviving
"I don't recall as we did." Giant was no more than five feet tall-his true name was Bedwyck-but a fierce little man for all that. "Slayer, did you ask Craster for his counsel?" Sam cringed at the name, but shook his head. He filled another spoon, brought it to Bannen's mouth, and tried to ease it between his lips. "Food and fire," Giant was saying, "that was all we asked of you. And you grudge us the food." "Be glad I didn't grudge you fire too." Craster was a thick man made thicker by the ragged smelly sheepskins he wore day and night. He had a broad flat nose, a mouth that drooped to one side, and a missing ear. And though his matted hair and tangled beard might be grey going white, his hard knuckly hands still looked strong enough to hurt. "I fed you what I could, but you crows are always hungry. I'm a godly man, else I would have chased you off. You think I need the likes of him, dying on my floor? You think I need all your mouths, little man?" The wildling spat. "Crows. When d
A Mythical World Parallel
Celandine observed the man curiously who just came out from the chamber, going downstairs. She noticed the small hand batch on his black robe, wondering what that might be meaning. Suddenly everything around her changed. They traveled dawn to dusk, past woods and orchards and neatly tended fields, through small villages, crowded market towns, and stout holdfasts. Come dark, they would make camp and eat by the light of the moon and the lamps. The men took turns standing watch. Celandine would glimpse firelight flickering through the trees from the camps of other travelers. There seemed to be more camps every night, and more traffic on the kingsroad by day. She somehow knew it was a dream. Morning, noon, and night they came, old folks and little children, big men and small ones, barefoot girls and women with babes at their breasts. Some drove farm wagons or bumped along in the back of ox carts. More rode: draft horses, ponies, mules, donkeys, anything that would walk or run or rol
A Mythical World Unpleasant
She was grubbing for vegetables in a dead man's garden when she heard the singing. Arya stiffened, still as stone, listening, the three stringy carrots in her hand suddenly forgotten. She thought of the Bloody Mummers and Roose Bolton's men, and a shiver of fear went down her back. It's not fair, not when we finally found the Trident, not when we thought we were almost safe. Only why would the Mummers be singing? The song came drifting up the river from somewhere beyond the little rise to the east. "Off to Gulltown to see the fair maid, heigh-ho, heigh-ho . . . " Arya rose, carrots dangling from her hand. It sounded like the singer was coming up the river road. Over among the cabbages, Hot Pie had heard it too, to judge by the look on his face. Gendry had gone to sleep in the shade of the burned cottage, and was past hearing anything. "I'll steal a sweet kiss with the point of my blade, heigh-ho, heigh-ho." She thought she heard a woodharp too, beneath the soft rush of the river.
A Mythical World Faded Glow
The morning air was dark with the smoke of burning goods. The old dry wood and countless layers of paint and varnish blazed with a fierce hungry light. Heat rose shimmering through the chill air; behind, the gargoyles and stone dragons on the castle walls seemed blurred, as if Moriah were seeing them through a veil of tears. Or as if the beasts were trembling, stirring . . "An ill thing," Hadassah declared, though at least she had the sense to keep her voice low "Silence," said Moriah. "Remember where you are. They were heading to the Garde Hundreds had come to the battle gates to bear witness to the burning of the Battle of Blood. The smell in the air was ugly. Even for soldiers, it was hard not to feel uneasy at such an affront to the gods most had worshiped all their live Moriah was thinking about his ancestors. They had overturned the altars, pulled down the statues, and smashed the stained glass with warhammers. The old Hand could only curse them, but Ser Hubard Rambton led
A Mythical World Lied
few of the lords lingered to speak in quiet voices upwind of the fire. They fell silent when they saw looking at them. Should Stannis fall, they will pull me down in an instant. Neither was he counted one of the queen's men, that group of ambitious knights and minor lordlings who had given themselves to this Lord of Light and so won the favor and patronage of Lady—no, Queen, remember?—Selyse. The fire had started to dwindle by the time Myra and the squires departed with the precious sword. Ezekiel and his son joined the crowd making its way down to the shore and the waiting ships. "Devan acquitted himself well," he said as they went. "He fetched the glove without dropping it, yes," said Dale. Allard nodded. "That badge on Devan's doublet, the fiery heart, what was that Black Horn sigil is a crowned stag." "A lord can choose more than one badge," Myra said. Dale smiled. "A black ship and an onion, Father?" Allard kicked at a stone. "The Others take our onion . . . and that flamin
A Mythical World History repeats
"I don't recall as we did." Giant was no more than five feet tall-his true name was Bedwyck-but a fierce little man for all that. "Slayer, did you ask Craster for his counsel?" Sam cringed at the name, but shook his head. He filled another spoon, brought it to Bannen's mouth, and tried to ease it between his lips. "Food and fire," Giant was saying, "that was all we asked of you. And you grudge us the food." "Be glad I didn't grudge you fire too." Craster was a thick man made thicker by the ragged smelly sheepskins he wore day and night. He had a broad flat nose, a mouth that drooped to one side, and a missing ear. And though his matted hair and tangled beard might be grey going white, his hard knuckly hands still looked strong enough to hurt. "I fed you what I could, but you crows are always hungry. I'm a godly man, else I would have chased you off. You think I need the likes of him, dying on my floor? You think I need all your mouths, little man?" The wildling spat. "Crows. When d
A Mythical World Nudge
Somebody is brushing hairs from my forehead. Then nudging my shoulder. "Sam, wake up," a voice tells softly. A Male voice. I am feeling confused. There's no male person in our home. Then who is it? I try to open my eyes, but can't, because sunlight is hitting me. Who the hell opened the damn curtains of the damn window? I raise my hands to cover my eyes, but something is in them. Something muddy. Wait...I'm not in home, am I? "Sam," that voice tells again. I snap my eyes open. A strong face welcomes me. I adjust myself in a seated position, glancing around. Who is this guy? Shit! I fell asleep on the mountain top. All the night. I squint at the sunlight, not feeling as panicked as others should be. "Who are you?" I look at his blue eyes. "I can ask you the same question," he replies. I yawn, staring at my hands which are covered with soil. So do my clothes. "You're not the fast who slept here all the night." He sits beside me, glancing oddly. "What time is
A Mythical World Twisted curse
Lynn Vandestine He pushes the door open of his new studi Painting has always been his hobby, but it is his first time to open a workshop like this. When he was in his adolescence, it wasn't one of his pleasant times. In order to lighten his mood, he used to climb up at the top of his favourite mountain, with papers and paints in the backpack. Often, he brushed colors gently on the canvas, while thinking if a girl would appear in front of him just like that drawin Now, the place can catch a plenty of natural light, one of the reason why he bought this. The layout is flexible, it's enough big for his work. The paintings around the studio are mostly portraits, but he drew some landscapes, too, tried to do another genr "Hi, Tom!" he greets the guy, who is moving his brush with so much attention, benting towards the easel. Tom is a local artist and a student of art college, once Lynn helped his big brother with a mission, so he knew him a little. When Lynn needed an assistant for
